


Killian the Bail Bonds Assisting Barista

by goddesswan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 20:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11563011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddesswan/pseuds/goddesswan
Summary: Emma is given an unusual assist when catching a bail jumper.





	Killian the Bail Bonds Assisting Barista

He’s an unarguably good looking man and that pisses her off. A lot. 

She hates when skips are good looking. Not because she’s worried she’ll find herself attracted to them; that’s never a problem for her. It bothers her because she knows the type: shitty person, blessed with naturally good looks, uses said good looks to manipulate women into ignoring their horrible personality and accepting their ugly behavior. 

Knowing what this man did—beat up his girlfriend and get himself arrested for aggravated assault—she’s entirely certain that his good looks were what convinced the girl to be with him in the first place. With his light green eyes, tousled dark hair, and a nice smile, she can see just how a certain type of woman would fall for his total lack of any other positive attributes. 

The longer she sits there, at the two person table in the corner of the coffee shop near her office, listening to this man try to charm his way into her pants, the more frustrated she gets.

She looks around, trying to focus on anything other than the man across from her lest she lose her temper too soon, and realizes how nice the place is. The skip had already been seated with two coffees when she arrived (red flag number 1, ordering for her) so she didn’t have much of a chance to examine the place other than the points of exit. It’s a simply decorated place, nothing too kitschy considering the fact that it’s named The Jolly. There’s a simple, long black board behind the counter displaying the menu, an array of black chairs and tables around the open space, and the only indication of a seafaring theme, a row of nautical mugs displayed across the counter.

A barista with bright blue eyes and a tray of coffee in his right hand passes their table and gives her an assessing look. She shrugs delicately and returns her attention to the idiot across from her. 

The guy said he came to this place often so the barista probably just recognized him and wondered why she was here with him. He’ll find out soon enough.  

She’s ready to pull the trigger, her hand resting on the cuffs strapped to her leg beneath her flowing, a line dress, when the same barista walks by, tripping and spilling the entirety of a mug of coffee into the man’s lap. 

Chris, the smarmy bastard, jumps out of his seat, toppling his chair over in the process.  

“What the hell, dude?” he shouts, shaking out the leg that received the brunt of the mess. “What the fuck kind of place are they running here that this shit happens?”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” the man says, not looking the least bit apologetic. 

“You sure as hell should be!” he grunts, no longer as loud but still as forceful.  

“Here,” the barista offers, pulling a towel out of his back pocket. 

Emma intercepts it. 

“Let me help you,” she says with a coy grin. She gets out of her own seat and kneels next to Chris. 

With one hand lightly dabbing his pants, she pulls the cuffs off her leg with the other. Mr. Macho Man is too busy being a smug bastard, grinning wildly to himself about the girl kneeling next to him and helping him dry off, to notice her actions. 

“That’s a good loo—” 

She cuts him off with the clank of the cuffs around his wrist before he can finish saying what she can only assume to be “that’s a good look for you.” And before he understands what’s happened, she’s got the other wrist trapped behind his back in the cuffs as well. 

“Thank you,” she says to the barista standing dumbfounded next to her and ignores the indignant sputtering of the wet man in favor of his awed “No problem, lass.”

She marches the bail jumper out of the coffee shop with as little fanfare as possible. The man’s undeniably an idiot but he seems to have enough sense to realize what’s happening and how unlikely he is to get out of the situation. 

It was a fairly easy catch, as far as these situations go and after getting rid of Chris Brown 2.0 she finds herself equal parts grateful and curious of the man who helped her. She heads back to the coffee shop with the intent to thank him. But when she walks in, he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Hi,” she greets the pretty, red headed girl, with a name tag reading Ariel, behind the counter, “I’m looking for the man who was working here earlier today.”

She looks confused for a moment then a look of realization dawns on her face.

“You must be talking about Killian! Dark hair, blue eyes?”

“Yes, is he here?”

“He’s gone for the day,” Ariel explains. “He actually wasn’t supposed to work but Ashley called off because her baby was sick so he had to come in.” 

“Oh.” She tries not to obviously deflate but she is disappointed she won’t be able to thank him.

“Did you have a problem?” she asks, concerned.

“No. No, I just… he kind of unknowingly helped me out with catching a bail jumper earlier and I just wanted to give him a nice tip.”

“Oh! You’re her!” she exclaims, eyes widening in excitement. “Killian always says it’s improper for the owner to accept tips but I’m sure he’d like to talk to you. Let me go get him. He’s right upstairs!”

The girl doesn’t exactly run around the counter and through the door leading to what she assumes is the stairwell but she doesn’t walk either. And after a few moments of standing there awkwardly, Ariel reappears with who she now knows to be Killian.

“Ah, you’re back. Here to arrest anyone else?” he asks with a smirk and she notices that he as an accent.

“No, I just wanted to thank you for your help… and I was wondering if you did that on purpose.” He raises a brow. “You know, spilling the drink on him.”

“I did,” he says evenly, nodding his head.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why?”

He bares his teeth in what she can only call an unamused grin.

“He’s in here often enough that I know what he’s like. Peevish, rude, a terrible tipper. He went off on one of my baristas the other day when I wasn’t here. Probably would have banned him from the establishment if she didn’t insist on me not doing so. I noticed you looked uncomfortable so I just did the first thing that came to mind to help you out of the situation.” 

“Mmm,” she hums, unsurprised at his description of him. “Maybe next time if a guy does something like that, ignore the baristas wishes and make sure he stays gone.” 

His eyes widen slightly at her suggestion but otherwise, he doesn’t seem to disagree with her.

“As you wish.” And then after a brief pause, “Do you mind if I ask what he did to end up in cuffs being very nearly pushed out of my establishment?”

“He beat the shit out of his girlfriend and skipped bail.”

“And that would make you a bail bonds person?” he questions tilting his head to the side in a manner entirely too endearing. He got the phrasing right and everything so it’s a little hard for her to resists his charming mannerisms.

“Yup.”

“Terribly sorry if this is too forward, lass, but do bail bonds people enjoy coffee or do they have a different choice of beverage for dates?”

She should tell him she hates coffee and walk out. She already thanked him for his help. But there’s something appealing about him that she can’t quite pin down. Maybe it’s his stupidly good looks, maybe it’s the way he had enough sense to wish to ban an aggressive man from his place of business, or maybe it’s the way he spilt hot coffee down a man’s lap to help a woman that appeared to be in distress, and it could possibly just be his damn good coffee. So instead she surprises herself and doesn’t walk out. 

“Most bail bonds people enjoy coffee, myself included, but what this bail bonds person really enjoys is hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate?”

“With cinnamon.”

“Aye, of course,” he says, grinning wildly and moving behind the counter.

“If you’re going to make me drink hot chocolate with you, then you’re going to tell me what made you chose the name, The Jolly,” she tells him with a grin she can’t stop from forming on her own face.

“I’m fairly certain I’ll be open to answering any questions you have.“

**Author's Note:**

> This was a birthday gift to the loveliest Adithi.


End file.
